Reading as a Writer: "Surrounded by Sleep" by Akhil Sharma

I've been stuck at the bottom of a swimming pool for months. Trying to swim. Trying not to drown. Trying to empty the water from my lungs. Trying to vomit it out from my stomach. But nothing works. And the top of the pool is like glass, is like ice, and I can hear the voices of Mother, of Ajay, of Father and uncles and aunts, but there's nothing I can do to break the surface.

Ajay comes often. When he does, he brings comic books, and he reads to me. Sometimes his feet penetrate the surface of the water, and like a catfish, I am able to swim among his toes. I am able to sense the way his feet smell with my whiskers. If I listen closely, I can hear the voices of Clark Kent and God and Ajay, and there is Mother in the back snoring, and they all want me to come out of the water so badly, but I've grown fins. I can't leave.

Then there are the aquarium technicians who make sure the pool has the right pH. They make sure that the water is rich in nutrients and they feed me. I am always the same.

Sometimes, I spot Father lurking at the edges of the pool. He looks blue from down here. He looks like a blur, like trying to find the right station on the radio. Static. Even from down here, I can smell how he has changed: the cigarettes, the beer, the heavy breathing from gaining extra weight. I know he keeps Ajay company. Someone has to. Ajay does not do well alone.

Mother is always at the edge of the pool, but she never comes in. She doesn't even stick her feet in. Sometimes, her tears fall like the Ganges, like the hair of Shivaji, and they pool into the basin where I swim. Mother's tears are full of grief, full of anger and regret for having let me go swimming that day. If I could, I would tell her that there was nothing she could have done to change what happened.

If I could, I would break the surface. But I am stuck, swimming in the blue, going from edge to edge, top to bottom, always a world away.